


You Made Me Love You

by strawberrykait



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Humor, Secret Admirer, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:26:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrykait/pseuds/strawberrykait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione gets more than she bargained for from a <i>secret admirer</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Made Me Love You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Captainraychill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captainraychill/gifts).



Ah, Valentine’s Day. A spectacular holiday reserved for lovers to express their deepest, most secret, intentions through the cunning use of chocolates and cards. A day to celebrate all the gushy, mushy, sentimental feelings only the very confident or very simple readily admitted to having. A time, for those fortunate fools, to revel within the effulgent pink light of devotion (or lust), heavily dusted by fairies and sweetened enough to almost make one horribly sick.

It was also a tidy boon for Hermione Granger, the first real profit since just before the holidays. Her little gift shop down in Diagon Alley provided seasonal trinkets, cards, some handcrafted jewellery, toys, and those Valentine’s perennials: chocolates and sweets. 

Her shop was by no means any true competition for Sugarplum’s Sweet Shop, of course, but she did well enough, and the steady stream of patrons exchanging knuts and such for her wonderful novelties and gifts kept Hermione both happy and satisfied with her career choice.

Yes, life was good for Hermione Granger.

However, it wasn’t always. Following the Second Wizarding War, when Harry pursued the Auror program (and Ginny Weasley), and Ron joined the Chudley Cannons, Hermione was left to her own devices. Naturally, she had received numerous offers from a wide range of employers, including the Ministry of Magic. Hermione chose to follow her heart and opened her little shop instead.

Being a war heroine did have both its benefits and its drawbacks, though. For quite some time following the fall of Lord Voldemort and his remaining Death Eaters, Hermione (and Harry and Ron, too) was the victim of hate mail, to put it lightly. After many Howlers, literally seething letters, and one particularly nasty death curse via owl, Hermione elected to use a post office box where she collected her personal mail once, sometimes twice, a week. Hermione still cried sometimes for that poor, poor owl. Despite her lingering concerns for owl safety, her family and close friends occasionally sent packages and missives to the shop. On such occasions, she was careful to send the owl on his way before even examining any deliveries.

On this particular day, the day before Valentine’s Day, a rather suspicious package arrived with her name carefully printed upon the paper wrapping. There was no return address. Considering it for only a moment before ripping it open, Hermione climbed up on her cashier’s stool to see what it was. 

It was a large, heart-shaped box, one not dissimilar from the kind sold in her own shop, which offered a variety of chocolate creams, nougats, chocolate covered nuts, and such. How odd, she thought, for someone to send _her_ Valentine’s sweets. She looked around the shop, curious if, perhaps, the sender was here, right now, watching her open the package. 

Hermione laughed at herself. Like she would have a secret admirer! She’d been single for the past few years, having a date now and again, but nothing ever coming from any of it. Her last real boyfriend had been Ronald Weasley, but that was some time ago, and they’d both decided it was too awkward to continue. Too many years had passed between them as best friends to make anything further of it. Even so, could Ron have sent them, just because?

“Hello, Hermione!”

Speak of the devil.

Hermione blushed as Ron approached. She lifted the box of chocolates up for him to see, watching for any sign of recognition, and he immediately descended, snatching at random and popping the sweets into his mouth. 

“Thought you said we couldn’t eat any of the stock until after the ‘post-holiday sale’,” he garbled around the candy. 

Hermione blinked. So, it wasn’t Ron, after all. She reached for the packaging again, hoping to learn something about the sender, something she overlooked. No postmark, so it had to have come via owl. A surge of customers approached the checkout, physically separating her from the candy mystery, but they did not prevent her mind from puzzling over it. 

Could she really have a secret admirer? More likely, it was a deranged person. 

As she continued to assist her customers with their anxious, last-minute purchases, Harry Potter came through the door, leaving a swooning gaggle of young girls outside the shop. Despite his very public relationship with Ginny, Harry continued to receive letters of intent from women of various ages. In the beginning, both he and Ron had a good laugh over them, but as time wore on, they became more of a nuisance than amusement. Harry also utilized a post box these days.

“Thought Hermione said we had to wait?” he asked Ron, eying the half-eaten box of chocolates. Soon Hermione was free and returned to her two best friends, frowning at the mess Ron had made. 

“It was sent to me, actually,” she replied. She retrieved the packaging from the bin to show Harry, who also suggested it was a secret admirer. Hermione’s face contorted. “Highly doubtful. Besides, shouldn’t there be a note, some small message along with it?” She gasped. “What if it’s poisoned?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Ron laughed through a mouthful of candy. He wasn’t showing any signs of poisoning, that was true.

“Remember the last time you gobbled down candy that wasn’t meant for you?” Harry asked, giving Ron a pointed look over the rim of his glasses. After a few seconds’ recollection, Ron blanched before hurdling over the counter and rushing towards the loo.

Hermione smirked. That ought to keep him out of her post for a while, she thought.

+++

As the day progressed, the customers and their demands increased, keeping Hermione and her few workers running. The bell hung over the door rang almost non-stop. She could hardly think about anything other than their needs, which normally was a pleasantry, making the workday speed by, but not today. Every free instant, her thoughts unwittingly returned to the package. Her thoughts remained half-formed, thanks to the constant disruptions.

“Tell me this,” drawled a voice behind two departing women. Immediately, the hairs on Hermione’s neck prickled with irritation. “Does this absurdly oversized bear say, _‘I want to boink your brains out’_ better than this ridiculous, googly-eyed frog?”

“Out, Malfoy,” she calmly, quietly stated, her eyebrows drawn down and together. 

“My sickles are just as good as anyone else’s here,” he purred, giving her a sly look. His obnoxious visits were becoming more frequent. Draco Malfoy apparently enjoyed being thrown out of her shop, for that happened every time she caught him in it. As if on cue, Hermione marched out from behind the counter and tried to usher him through the door. “But I haven’t paid for my purchases, yet,” he protested in a mocking tone.

“The management reserves the right to deny service to pompous asses such as you, so bugger off, Malfoy!” she hissed, resorting to actually shoving him backwards. 

“I know you can’t keep your hands off me, Granger, but must you be so rough about it? I have quite delicate skin.”

“Oh, I’ll show you rough!” She yanked the door open and nudged him with her shoulder.

“Such promises,” he murmured as he finally left.

Hermione wiped her forehead, her face feeling quite flushed from the scene. Honestly, Draco Malfoy must have something better to do with his life than annoy her like this!

+++

If yesterday had been hectic, then the only fitting word for Hermione to describe this day, Valentine’s Day, was maniacal. Of course, in the back of her mind, she had to remind herself it truly was _profitable_ ; however, every year on this day she just wished the whole damned thing over and done with. She felt spun the entire day, as though every face, every crazed customer were nothing more than one giant irritation impossible to please. It made her feel very misanthropic, she hated to admit. There were the occasional customers who were appreciative and satisfied, those she actually enjoyed helping find the perfect gift for his or her intended – some small trinket, or teddy bear. Yet they were overshadowed by the harried ones, the ones who snatched at every box of candies, who threatened to curse the witch who was there first if she didn’t hand it over immediately, the ones who wanted precisely what Hermione did not even sell in the first place. Those were the ones she mentally cursed repeatedly, creatively, giving her the barest satisfactions.

Valentine’s Day made up for the exceptionally slow period just around the corner, she reminded herself with every rude customer as she wrapped up their purchases, thanked them and wished them a good day. The bell over the door rang once more and Hermione spun about to greet the new customer.

“Oh, hello, Lavender,” she said, making an effort to not roll her eyes. Lavender Brown waltzed in the shop, her nose slightly lifted as she slowly made her way through the crowd, passing nearly empty shelves of knick-knacks and trinkets. Lavender did not acknowledge Hermione’s greeting, which only justified her desire to see the backside of the vapid blonde. She decided to let her alone, hoping that the lack of attention along with the heavy crowd would encourage her to leave that much sooner. Hermione turned to a woman requesting love potions, already taking a breath to give her spiel on why her shop did not provide such things.

However, her brain refused to completely ignore her former dorm mate. 

Even before the Won-Won Fiasco, as she and Ginny often referred to the period during school when Ron and Lavender dated – or, more appropriately, snogged each other senseless at every opportunity – they had not been the best of friends. They had so little in common. Hermione had her books, her studies, and her many dangerous adventures, thanks to her friendship with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, whereas Lavender had her hair tonics and makeup, her baubles and such. Hermione would never call her stupid, not to her face, at least. She did feel somewhat superior to the blonde witch, truth be told. 

A blessed lull came sometime after lunch and Hermione had her first opportunity to sit down. Just as she did, the bell jingled, forcing her to cringe in dread. 

“Bad day?” Her eyes opened and gave Harry a grateful, yet slightly manic smile. Clutched in his hand was Chinese take-out to share.

“You’ve no idea!” The pair hunched over the counter and dug into the food he’d brought. As she ate like a starving witch in Azkaban, Harry asked her opinion about his Valentine’s night plans. Before she could really give her opinion, that she doubted most girls would be thrilled with seeing a Quidditch match on what was supposed to be the most romantic night of the year, therefore it was perfect for Ginny, the bell rang once more.

“You’ll never guess who I just ran into – oh, food!” Ron charged the counter, snatching the white box out of Harry’s hands and using his friend’s chopsticks to finish the lo mein off. Outbursts like this were nothing new to either Harry or Hermione, so it was not surprising they ignored him until he himself recalled what he’d wanted them to guess. Slurping the last bit up, he resumed. “You’ll never guess who I ran into just now.”

Neither made a guess, but rather stared at him patiently. When it was obvious they weren’t willing to play along, Ron sighed and gave in. “Lavender.” He gave unnecessary emphasis to her name, drawing it out as though her name alone was a treat to savour. A slight flush appeared on his cheeks, and his eyes almost seemed to brighten as he said the name. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ron, when do you think you’ll grow up? Lavender Brown, really? You come in here to tell _me_ about _her_?” She glanced at Harry, who looked slightly uncomfortable as well. When she caught his attention, her eyes bugled expectantly. “Actually, do you know that she came in here earlier today? Very odd. She didn’t say a single word to me, nor did she buy anything. Suppose she’s still sore at me, but, oh well.”

Harry listened, cocking his head to the side as Hermione finished her short story. They exchanged a look that said neither could understand Lavender Brown. Ron, of course, missed all of this. 

“She looked good, I thought. Still has all that lovely, curly blonde hair. Wild. Sexy, I’d say. Think she’s interested in maybe having another go,” he said boastfully. On either side of Ron, both Harry and Hermione’s heads shook slowly in disbelief. Lucky for him, however, three customers entered just then, so Hermione slipped down off her stool to assist them without a word. She did manage to glare a bit before greeting the first customer.

When the small wave receded, Hermione returned to find nothing but empty boxes all around, even her own, which she hadn’t finished. Huffing, she stepped around Harry to begin cleaning up the mess. “Look, Ron,” she said with a sigh. “Lavender Brown is bad news. I thought you realized that years… ago…”

Hermione belched loudly, surprising herself more than the others, who merely chuckled at her uncontrolled outburst. She covered her mouth in surprise, when suddenly, her stomach cramped horribly. She felt light-headed and hazy. Her first thought was possible low blood sugar, but then she glanced at the boxes she was currently crumpling in her fist. “Oh, no!” 

Ron and Harry called after her as Hermione hurried to the loo to be sick.

+++

By the time she felt more like herself again, and less likely to evacuate her internal organs out one end or the other, she found no sign of either of the boys. Thankfully, her assistants had managed the shop in her brief absence.

“Hermione,” whispered Heather, her newest clerk. “There’s a gentleman waiting for you.”

Her heart practically pounded out of her chest. _Oh, no! Not today, not after… that_. She lifted a hand to check her breath and was grateful she’d stashed a tooth brush at work. Her pulse quickened. Her secret admirer was here. Almost instantly, she dismissed such a ridiculous thought. She had never had, nor ever likely would have, a _secret admirer_. The arrival of the chocolates was nothing; it was the mania of the holiday affecting her sensibilities. Besides, how cruel of Cupid would it be for her would-be sweetheart to come to her now, after that most disgusting episode?

Shaking herself free of these ludicrous thoughts, she made her way towards her small office in the back, where Heather indicated the gentleman waited. With a calming deep breath, she opened the door. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” She slumped against the doorframe, staring at none other than Draco sodding Malfoy. Again. “Don’t you work? Don’t you have countless other people to harass?”

He was perched on the corner of her desk, his hands folded lightly in his lap, smirking, looking up at her through his fringe. Draco Malfoy was a handsome man, she would admit that, but his appalling character and behaviour, much like a gnat, prevented her from seeing him as anything other than a pest. 

“Am I going to have to purchase a repellent charm to keep you out of my shop?” Her hands were fisted on her hips. She reached up to scratch an itch on her clavicle, still staring at Malfoy, who remained seated. 

“Oh, surely you wouldn’t do that,” he teased. “You know you love our little _tête-à-têtes_.”

“Actually,” she spoke over him. “I can think of a number of things I’d rather deal with, like tooth extraction… a visit from the tax assessor… or even tea with Umbridge…”

“Always so dramatic.” He slid off her desk and produced flowers from out of nowhere. To say she was shocked was an understatement. Hermione scratched furiously at her neck, followed by her elbow. She must be allergic to something in the Chinese take-out, she decided, or perhaps the flowers themselves. Her mind attempted to distract her from the slowly approaching Malfoy. 

There was an uncontrollable spasm occurring in her left arm. Her heart began to race, and she told herself it had absolutely nothing to do with the handsome man standing before her, staring down at her mouth as though he were hungry. Her hands trembled visibly as he placed both of his on her hips, tossing the flowers to the ground. She glanced to where they landed, but only momentarily. As soon as he touched her, Hermione couldn’t help herself.

She kissed him, full on the mouth, pressing her lips harshly against his. Scant seconds passed before he responded, clutching her towards him and licking the seam of her lips. It was as though she were watching this from outside her body, watching as her arms wrapped around his neck stiffly and she gave into the passionate kissing, hearing herself moan but not accepting the fact that it was her doing it, any of it. Her body was thrumming.

Malfoy broke the kiss at last. “Oh, darling, darling. You’ve no idea how long… I’ve wanted to…” he murmured into her hair, his hands running up and down her back, her hips, pulling her ever closer, while Hermione continued to kiss him. It was rather awkward, her small, frantic pecks, uncontrollable and rigid. Even Malfoy began to laugh at her antics. “Hey, slo—slow down, Hermione. Love?” He pulled back from her, his eyes widening in surprise. Or possibly fright.

He pushed her back at arm’s length to stare into her eyes. Hermione was still kissing nothing at all, her mouth smacking wildly. As soon as he let her go, she lunged for him once more, however this time, Malfoy held her back. “What is this? What are you playing at, Hermione?” he asked quietly, mistrust evident.

Inside, Hermione was screaming at him, at herself mostly, but nothing came out. She had no control whatsoever. Malfoy clumsily walked her backwards to her desk chair and shoved her down, stepping back to stare harshly at her. After a moment, Hermione seemed to collect herself.

“I think,” she said, breathlessly. “I think you should go now, Malfoy.”

Without a word, he nodded and left, firmly shutting the door behind him. Hermione was left with a racing, pounding heart, her lips soft and hot, swollen with kisses. Malfoy’s kisses. Her manic kisses. “What in Merlin’s name was _that_?”

+++

Normally, Hermione’s shop was open on Sundays from noon to six, but not today. She closed the shop, gave her small staff paid time off, and stayed in bed, hoping to recover from yesterday’s illness. Although she physically felt better, her mind was a ruin with images she wished she could Obliviate. Had she really let Draco Malfoy kiss her like that? No, she had kissed him. Like a sex-crazed teenager, something she’d never herself been before, so she had no idea where that had come from. The only explanation was that she’d had a terrible allergic reaction.

Easy enough: no more Chinese food. Or hydrangeas. There, problem solved. But that was far from the truth. Oh, Merlin, she’d have to apologize to him, to sodding _Malfoy_. Just the thought made her feel a little sick again. No, she could do this. All she had to do was send him an owl. Yes, a quick note apologizing for her atrocious behaviour, and they could both forget about the whole damned thing. Yes, that would work.

As she was reaching for her quill and ink, she considered what to write. When she had been … kissing… him, she’d been itching just before, and there had been spasms. She felt like she’d had no control over her body. What else could it have been but an allergic reaction? And since she’d eaten Chinese take-out numerous times, it had to have been the flowers, flowers Malfoy had subjected her to. She was not responsible for her behaviour at all. Surely, even he’d understand that once she explained. Actually, she decided, it truly was _his_ fault and there was no need for her to apologize for anything at all. There, done! 

Hermione brightened tremendously.

Hermione tossed her feathered quill aside and stared at her flowery wallpaper. Flowers, and candy the day before. The trembling, itching. 

Oh, it was so obvious! Malfoy was behind it all! He’d _forced_ her to kiss him – she’d been cursed! Oh, he was going to pay for this! Just as her irritation percolated, her sensibility returned. No, in this situation, the best action to take was no action at all. She would wipe the memory from her mind, forget about Malfoy and his delicious, soft lips and firm grip, his pithy attempts to woo her, and look into wards for the shop. There, situation rectified!

+++

Following family dinner at The Burrow, Hermione sat down with Harry and Ginny to ask their thoughts on her conundrum. Ron had missed dinner due to a _hot date_ , according to his sister, who gave a stink eye when she mentioned it. At first, Hermione was embarrassed to admit to them what had occurred in her office, but she shut her eyes and blurted it out.

Neither knew how to respond immediately, which only added to her mortification. Harry was appalled, unable to move past the idea that Hermione not only kissed Malfoy, but also instigated the entire thing. Ginny, on the other hand, was a little disturbed, but then became more interested in how good Malfoy was, which further disgusted Harry. 

Before Hermione could respond, the Floo lit up and Ron staggered out, a lopsided grin plastered on his face. His clothes were dishevelled, as was his hair, more so than usual, and even from the short distance, Hermione could tell he’d been snogged good and proper. Slowly, as if in a daze, Ron shuffled towards his friends. 

A wave of nausea swept over Hermione then. The saliva pooled within her mouth and her stomach churned. Choking back dinner, she stumbled to her feet and ran for the loo. Again.

+++

Ginny was the first to figure out the trigger. Whenever Ron was within two feet of Hermione, she became nauseated. A clever anti-regurgitation spell later, and she was right as rain. Except that, she now had more reason to not only loathe, but possibly fear, Draco Malfoy. What kind of sick individual devised such curses? To what end? Why Ron, and not Harry? Back at Hogwarts, all three boys hated each other, but everyone in the room all believed the animosity between Malfoy and Harry was strongest. Why keep Hermione away from Ron only?

“What if it’s not Malfoy doing it?”

The suggestion was surprising, but most especially since it came from Harry. Hermione stared at him before considering the possibility. All evidence to the contrary, could it all be circumstantial? No, that was very unlikely. That night, Hermione went home with more questions than before swirling inside her pounding head.

+++

Monday morning at the shop was slow, so slow that Hermione had plenty of time to dwell on the last few days. Her mind replayed the incidents with Malfoy, her uncontrollable behaviour, and only just a little bit on her sickness. That was something she was quite ready to forget about. The lack of customers was unfortunate as well because she was very sleepy, having missed many hours of sleep researching the most effective ward she could find at such short notice to prevent a certain obnoxious, sexually harassing blond prat from pestering her further.

Chin resting in the palm of her hand, Hermione’s eyes slowly slid shut yet again, only to snap open when the bell over the door rang out. Anxiously, Hermione shook herself awake and smiled pleasantly at the newcomer, but then her smile faded away as she recognized the woman.

This time Hermione didn’t bother with greeting Lavender Brown, remembering her slight snub from last time. Hermione’s brow wrinkled, curious as to why she had returned so soon, especially when she did not purchase anything the other day. There was very little left in the post-holiday stock, too, which explained the lack of customers in general.

Years had passed since she’d had any occasion to interact with Lavender Brown, which, come to think of it, was rather surprising. The Wizarding World wasn’t so massive that their paths wouldn’t have crossed. They crossed today, she thought, and two days ago. Something niggled in the back of Hermione’s mind, considering it quite odd. 

As she mulled over the unlikely coincidence, she fussed with a stack of receipts behind the counter. Surreptitiously, her thoughts clouding over, she glanced around for Lavender to see what caught her attention, which was how she was taken by surprise when the wards on the shop suddenly rang out.

The shrieking siren was enough to cause migraines, bouncing off the walls of the small shop and burrowing its way into Hermione’s head. Both hands covered her ears, her eyes squeezing shut, until she remembered how to shut it off. Flicking her wand as required, the wailing siren ended as abruptly as it had begun, and standing just inside the doorway was none other than Draco Malfoy.

Hermione was quite grateful there was hardly anybody in the shop, for she was about to castrate him. Apparently, she must have said this aloud, for Malfoy immediately covered his crotch and took several steps away from her, further into the shop, to her dismay.

“Get out!” She barked, her hand pointing towards the door. 

Ignoring her command, Malfoy stepped towards the counter instead. “First, allow me to return my purchase. You see, the witch in question didn’t appreciate the sexual teddy bear you sold me.”

Taking a deep breath, Hermione held her ground, waiting with only the slightest bit of patience she could muster. Unfortunately, for them both, Malfoy also stayed where he was. He had the audacity then to smile and wink at her. The growl was louder this time and was accompanied with a foot stomp. Malfoy leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest, his fringe falling into one eye. Hermione had to repress an urge to push his hair back. Instead, she tucked her own errant hair behind her ears, and marched towards him. A brief panicked look entered Malfoy’s glacial grey eyes; however, it quickly melted away into a charming smile.

“What do you want,” she asked under her breath, attempting to keep her irritation in check long enough to get him out. For both their sakes, she moved around the counter, creating a somewhat safe distance. Malfoy was ignorant of the eminent danger, evidently, for he rested his cheeks in both hands, elbows supporting him on the counter, bringing him alarmingly close. Too close.

“I want,” he began in a soft, almost seductive voice, “to take you out this coming Saturday. You, me, a succulent French dinner, good bit of vintage wine, shimmering moonlight dancing on the Riviera. What do you say, love?”

“I’d say you were cracked, is what.” Distractedly, Hermione looked for something to save her, a needy customer, one of her staff, anything, yet she came up short. It was as though the shop was actually working against her. She sighed, pushing her fringe up and out of her face, turning annoyed, expectant eyes back to Malfoy. He was staring at her in such a manner that she felt her lower belly quiver. Quick as lightening, the notion that Malfoy wasn’t as malicious as she’d believed came to her. Definitely time for him to leave, she thought.

Malfoy broke eye contact to stare down at the counter, so she looked, too. Without her knowing it, he was holding her hand. Quickly, she snatched it away, startling him into standing upright. “Don’t touch me,” she seethed, wiping her hand against her pant leg.

Malfoy chuckled. “Now who’s cracked?” She gave him a baffled expression until he said, in a seductive tone, “You took my hand, love, not the other way around.”

Hermione laughed cruelly, disbelievingly. Malfoy pouted in response. “And what’s wrong with holding _my_ hand?” he asked accusingly, but she ignored him, choosing to return to her pointless receipts. If Malfoy was smart, he’d take a hint and get out, however she knew just how slim those chances were. Soon, he was standing across the counter from her again, giving her that look, that melting, delicious look that whispered all the naughty things he wanted to do to her, with her. 

Well, perhaps not _all_ of the naughty things, but plenty enough! 

His smile broadened at her and brought her attention back down to their conjoined hands with a gentle tug. How did he do that? This time he wouldn’t let her hand go when she tried to pull away. A warm tingling spread out from her palm, coursing through her arm back towards her heart, which jolted with excitement. Malfoy was suddenly much closer than before, and there was a dull ache in her abdomen. When he was mere inches away from her, his smile completely replaced by a heated look that created wonderful flip-flops in her belly, Hermione realized that he hadn’t moved at all; she had. As though in a dream, Hermione watched her free hand reach up towards his cheek, shaking and jerking. Before she could slap him, which is what she comforted herself by assuming she was going to do, his hand gently wrapped around her proffered one, pulling it towards his mouth. Malfoy closed his eyes as he place a soft kiss in the palm. 

Hermione felt gooey all over, tingly, too, as if her entire body had gone numb. The crease of her elbow began to itch. He pressed her palm against his cheek, slowly opening his glacial eyes to stare back at her. There was so much heat in his stare; she wondered how his eyes didn’t melt away.

Just as Hermione had decided that she wanted nothing more than to kiss Draco Malfoy, to allow him to show her all those wicked things his smile had silently promised, the fingers on his cheek curled cruelly into his flesh and attempted to rip the skin clear off.

Malfoy yelped, surprised but not as much as Hermione was at herself. She stared in open-mouthed horror at her offending hand, managing to shut her mouth as Malfoy turned accusingly towards her. He wasn’t bleeding; Hermione’s short, blunt nails had barely broken the skin, nevertheless his resentment was quite clear.

“I’m… I’m s-so-,” she managed. Malfoy immediately left the shop without responding. Hermione frowned as she scratched away her itch.

+++

The day never improved. That evening, instead of going straight home, Hermione chose to stop in the Leaky Cauldron for a drink. The moment she walked through the door, she wished she’d chosen somewhere else or even just gone home. Several familiar faces appeared throughout the pub and she had to smile, giving little waves as she passed, and mentally begged all of them to leave her be. She made her way to a corner table, farthest from everybody, and crumpled into the seat. There she stayed for one Butterbeer and three Firewhiskys, anticipating the blissful numbness alcohol promised.

What was wrong with her? It was as though she had no control over herself whenever Draco Malfoy appeared. Certainly, he was handsome. He’d grown up to be a good-looking man, that no one could deny. But why did he suddenly affect her so? Two weeks ago, and much further back than that, she’d been able to contain her interest quite well, but now it was as though she was … compelled to make a damned fool of herself. Hermione’s fuzzy brain tried to work it out. She could pinpoint when it began, all right, but not why, or how. However, she was certain that Draco Malfoy was to blame for it all.

More than pleasantly tipsy, Hermione chose to walk home. It was rather late at night and, unsurprisingly for a Monday, the streets were empty. The cold wind briskly danced around her, chilling her practically to the bone, yet she did not feel confident enough to simply Apparate home. 

Stumbling, her mind bogged down still by Malfoy and her odd attraction towards him, Hermione did not see the other person suddenly appear and knocked Hermione arse over teakettle. She had the presence of mind to be embarrassed by the sight she surely made, wallowing on the ground, attempting to get up. What irritated her more was that the other person refused to give her a helping hand. When at last she had her feet under her again, Hermione realized that not only had her assailant not apologized or helped her to stand, but that he hadn’t even bothered to stick around. 

“What kind of an idiot knocks a person down and doesn’t help him back up, huh? And what about an apology? The nerve of some people, being so rude as to bump into you and then walking off,” she mumbled to herself as she sluggishly dusted herself clean. Hermione blatantly ignored the fact that she was rather drunk and most likely caused the scuffle, because seriously, what kind of person just left someone scrambling on the ground like that? She looked up and down the street and spotted a person, a woman, actually, marching further away.

“Thanks for that!” Hermione shouted at the retreating figure in vain. She muttered under her breath, “Bastard.” Looking along the ground to be certain she didn’t drop anything, Hermione stopped, her heart giving a little lurch at what she found.

+++

Her key was just about to turn in the door when someone touched her shoulder. Hermione gasped, spun about with her wand in hand. The altercation less than thirty minutes ago had put her on edge, and the item she retrieved from the person who knocked her over had made her paranoid. She wasn’t about to risk anything else tonight.

Staggering down a step, Malfoy raised both hands in surrender. Perfect, this evening could not get any worse.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” she shrieked, pressing her wand into his neck. She had to steady herself with one hand on the railing. “And how the hell do you know where I live?”

Malfoy scoffed. “Are you serious? I’m Draco Malfoy,” he said, as though the answer was completely obvious. Slowly, he lowered his hands, pointedly staring at her protruding wand. However, Hermione’s guard would not relent. He cleared his throat. “I was at the Leaky. I saw you there, alone. By the time I decided to come chat with you, you were out the door. So I decided to follow you home, make sure you were all right.” Hermione huffed. _Where were you when I was flat on my arse, then? _“We need to talk, Hermione.”__

__“I disagree. We have absolutely nothing to discuss.” With a wary eye she turned, focusing on entering her home. She ignored her trembling hand as she failed to insert the key properly._ _

__“There’s something about you,” Malfoy whispered, his breath hot against her neck. Hermione stiffened as he inhaled deeply in her hair. “I’ve thought about you for a very long time, but until Valentine’s Day, I couldn’t believe that you’d ever consider…” He nuzzled her ear, causing a warm delight to swirl inside her. His hands carefully brushed up and down her arms as his lips pressed a kiss beneath her left ear._ _

__With a jabbing elbow into his ribs, Hermione freed herself from his embrace, nearly tumbling backwards in the process. Her heart was pounding like mad, the blood rushing past her ears. Malfoy stumbled down the remaining steps, losing his balance. The astonishment on his face was little consolation, though. She sucked in a breath through her teeth, her brain racing with numerous things to say to him, from telling him to bugger off, to asking him inside, to demanding to know why he’d cursed her._ _

__“Don’t come any closer!” she threatened, wand extended, eyes cold and unwavering. He stared up at her, utter surprise evident, and for a second, Hermione doubted herself. Her eyes settled on the red scratches down his left cheek, scratches she had made. After a moment, she quietly said, “Go home, Malfoy. You’re wrong about me. Dead wrong.”_ _

__This time she had little trouble from the key in the lock as she left him, firmly shutting the door behind her. Leaning against the door to catch her breath, Hermione realized that she wasn’t itchy at all._ _

____

+++

“It’s creepy, Hermione,” Harry said in response to the doll he held, which eerily resembled Hermione. She brought it to his and Ginny’s place first thing Tuesday morning, alerting her staff that she was taking the day off. She’d spent the remainder of the night puzzling the damn thing herself, knowing for certain it was an effigy of herself. Finding two strands of her own hair sewn onto the doll’s head merely confirmed what she already suspected, that someone had made a Voodoo doll.

But who, and why?

She had already compiled a list of suspects, the top of the list being Draco Malfoy, obviously. Yet she couldn’t rule out the possibility of another, or multiple, culprits. For example, it had occurred to Hermione during the night that George Weasley could be responsible for the doll and all the pranks heretofore. She had to admit that he was highly suspicious; especially knowing the type of mischief he and his late twin often delved into, yet Hermione couldn’t determine why he would want to hurt her. Usually, their pranks had been harmless, mostly, and on the rare occasions that they did blow up in their faces – sometimes literally – they were apologetic and willing to make amends. Still, she couldn’t rule him out entirely, not yet, anyway.

At one point, Hermione suspected Ron. As improbable as it was, could he (along with George) have cursed her using this doll? Both were close enough to have easily obtained strands of her hair for the spell, that was certain. Again, she couldn’t fathom why they would do it, though. Ron, and to some lesser degree, George, were her friends, and friends wouldn’t want to see her make a fool of herself over someone like Draco Malfoy, surely.

Harry, being an Auror, immediately turned to the idea of a Dark Wizard tormenting her, despite both Ginny and Hermione’s arguments that no respectable Dark Wizard would busy himself with such immature pranks as kissing spells and such. Still, Harry clung to his idea, if only silently. 

Hermione voiced her notion that Malfoy was behind it, especially since he’d been coming around so often lately and, most importantly, because he was the benefactor, for lack of a better word, of her attentions when cursed. 

Ginny smirked at Hermione, asking again for her to detail how good a kisser Malfoy was. Hermione couldn’t stop the blush from spreading. “I know what,” Ginny said, looking at Harry. “Why not use that spell you were telling me about the other night, the tracker one?”

Puzzled, Hermione looked to Harry to explain, which he did. One of his co-workers had shared a charm that allowed the Aurors to track the culprit if they had something belonging to him. It was definitely worth a shot, in their collective opinions, and so Harry performed the charm. 

“ _Dominus Vestigo_!” 

The Hermione doll began to vibrate softly, and then it levitated out of the real Hermione’s hands, hovering approximately six inches above them. All three stared in delight and wonder, until the doll suddenly zoomed out the window. Quickly, they dashed after it.

+++

The journey was surprisingly short. Hermione barely had time to mentally compose what she intended to say to the person responsible for her humiliation this week, when she realized where exactly the doll was leading them. They all three recognized Ron’s neighbourhood, but none voiced any opinion, negative or otherwise, not even when the doll led them directly to his flat. The front door was sensibly shut, the doll still softly vibrating obscenely against the doorknob, as Hermione, Harry and Ginny stared at one another in utter disbelief.

Out of all of her suspects, Ron was the one she was most certain was innocent. However, if the doll was any indication, she’d been wrong about him in many respects. Taking a deep breath, Hermione tried the knob, thankfully it wasn’t locked, and swung the door inward. 

She was absolutely not prepared for what she found.

There, entangled on the sofa were Ron and Lavender Brown, _in flagrante delicto_. The pair quickly scrambled free of each other, Ron burning red from the tips of his ears down to his naked chest, while Lavender giggled, doing up her top. At first, Hermione was embarrassed for the interrupted couple, but then she was disgusted by Ron and his poor romantic choices. It took a moment, amid all the shouting about privacy and knocking, mixed with sputtering nonsense from Harry and outright laughter from Ginny, for Hermione to notice where the doll had landed. She glanced up from Lavender’s lap, their eyes meeting just before the blonde witch attempted to bury the doll in the cushions.

“You?! You did this to me?” Hermione shouted, drawing everybody’s attention. Lavender jumped up from the sofa, throwing the doll at Hermione for a diversion, but failed to escape the flat.

Thanks to Ginny’s quick Quidditch skills, Lavender was detained at once. She cast Incarcerous and tied the blonde to a nearby chair. Meanwhile, Harry approached Ron, frantically whispering to him what they’d discovered and how they wound up here as Hermione collected herself.

All this time, it had been Lavender Brown – the twit from school, the girl who’d stolen Ron from her during Sixth year, her dorm mate who ridiculed her nearly every day for being so bookish and not at all like most other girls their age. Lavender Brown, the innocuous dummy who spent more time perfecting her hairstyle than her studies. 

“But… why?” Hermione couldn’t seem to move beyond such a simple question. Whenever she tried, her mind struggled to wrap around any feasible reason, so knowing the answer was more important that even seeking justice against her enemy. 

The blonde witch scoffed, her mouth hanging open most unattractively as she glared back at Hermione. “As if you didn’t know!” Something in Hermione’s face must have penetrated Lavender’s puny brain, for she looked slightly taken aback then, and with another huff, she gave her reasons. 

“Ron, of course. It was you – it was _always_ you – forcing your way between our perfect love, spoiling _everything_ we had! You ruined him for me, with your high and mighty act, you cow! Won-Won and I were happy together. We were the perfect couple, until you decided to show the slightest interest and spun his head about, making him drop me like that! He doesn’t love you – he never loved you – not like he loves me,” she hissed, the saliva frothing at the corners of her mouth. She swallowed roughly, unable to wipe her mouth with her arms bound to the chair as they were, before continuing. 

“Won-Won and I are made for each other. You,” she spat, “are only a distraction, an irritant that will never go away, no matter what I do! Why don’t you leave us in peace, you heartless bitch?”

“Are you serious? Lavender, that was _years_ ago, not to mention the fact that Ron and I have been friends nearly our entire lives! What Ron and I had …” Hermione took a deep, settling breath, gathering her thoughts. She couldn’t believe that all of this trouble, this absolute madness, had sprung up from such an old hurt, something Hermione considered so unimportant in light of what followed afterwards that, had their roles been reversed, she would have forgotten long ago. 

“Don’t use that condescending tone with me, Hermione! What you _had_ is insignificant, nothing compared to what he and I have – love, true love! Yet here you are, always coming between us, separating us like the cruel harpy you are! I know about you two – I’m not stupid! You’ve kept him for yourself all this time, never truly loving Won-Won as he deserves, as only I can love him!”

_It was, without a doubt, the single worst day of Lavender Brown’s life. The day began horribly when she overslept for work. Again. Despite quickly rushing through her morning rituals, refusing to bypass the necessary coffee in order to wake her arse up properly, she managed to miss her bus. Down several blocks she ran towards the nearest Apparition point, which would let out yet another several blocks away from her destination. Mornings like this, Lavender wished she could simply ride a broom into wor;, however, living in predominantly Muggle London prohibited such conveniences._

_Less than one block away, she was splashed by a passing bus, staining her silk shirt. No worries, once she made it inside, she could always siphon it off with her wand. Lavender never made it that far, however. Awaiting her was a distressed memo, which quickly opened itself and spoke with a crisp, formal voice, informing Lavender that her services were no longer necessary and that, due to her failure to adhere to the regulated work schedule, she was terminated._

_Then, as she dejectedly carried her many belongings home in a box, the left heel of her brand new leather pumps broke, causing everything to go flying about._

_All of these things on any other day could simply be chalked up to being the worst possible luck, or a horrific alignment of the stars. However, what ultimately forced her over the edge, on what otherwise constituted as a very, very bad day, was the couple before her._

_Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger._

_It was almost tangible, the instant her mind took an absence, when her_ cheese slid off her cracker _, as Ernie Macmillan would say. Had anyone actually been looking at her, if she hadn’t been completely alone, they would have noticed immediately. It was like watching some unfortunate soul suffer a stroke – it came on both slowly and yet all too quickly, simultaneously – and you just knew she would never, ever be the same again._

_A psychotic break isn’t a pretty sight._

Once again, Hermione stared wide-eyed at the witch seated across from her, watching Lavender’s hatred course through her, causing even her long curls to tremble. Very slowly, realizing how easily the situation could turn for the worse, Hermione said, “Ron and I are not together, haven’t been for a few years now. We’re friends, nothing more. He is not my boyfriend.”

The room was completely silent while everybody took turns looking at one another. It was Lavender’s turn to look shocked, her arms dangling to her sides as best they could while bound up. Without consulting anyone, Ginny Vanished the ropes. Sulking, Lavender rubbed her arms, glaring at the redheaded girl.

Hermione’s eyes fell to slits as she shifted her weight to one hip. “Do you mean to tell me that all of this, every horrible thing you’ve done to me since just before Valentine’s Day, was all because you wanted to split up me and Ron, when in actuality, there _is_ no ‘me and Ron’?” 

Lavender looked around at the others, as though looking for some kind of contradiction to Hermione’s words. Finding none, she visibly relaxed. She gave a nervous laugh, her eyebrows rising in a supplicating manner. “Whoopsie?”

“Whoopsie?” Hermione growled before lunging toward the blonde witch. Had Harry and Ginny not been there, there was no telling what Hermione might have done to the little twit. They held her back firmly, allowing Lavender time to jolt up and dash towards Ron, who was blushing from the neck of his shirt to the top of his head once more. 

Automatically, his arms opened wide to accept the blubbering blonde. Harry sputtered, and Ginny considered releasing Hermione upon them both. Luckily, Hermione missed the brief conflicted look that crossed Ron’s face before gently pushing Lavender back to arm’s length. “I’m not very articulate,” he slowly began, quietly, not meeting her watery eyes. “Must say, this is all sort of flattering. And we’ve had … a good time recently, yeah? But,” he quickly amended as Lavender perked up and the others glared in his direction.

“But this can’t happen anymore. Never again, actually. Not after everything’s come out.”

Lavender’s manicured hands clasped his forearms, securing herself to him so that he couldn’t easily cast her away. “No. No, Won-Won! Don’t you see? We’re perfect together, meant to be. I saw it all, our perfect life together, in my scrying mirror. That’s how I know. It’s our destiny, Ronald, don’t you understand?” Lavender clutched him urgently, explaining herself, believing he understood completely. 

Gently extracting himself from her tight grip, Ron merely shook his head, pity evident in his face. Lavender twitched, one hand and then the other alternately wiping tears from her cheeks. With a tremendous sob, Lavender ran out as though The Dark Lord were chasing her, her long hair flailing behind. No one bothered to stop or to follow her.

After she left, Hermione spun about towards Ron. “How long were you together? How long did you know she was cursing me? Answer me, Ronald!” She screamed in his face. Ron defensively held up his hands, taking a precautionary step backwards. Neither Harry nor Ginny was prepared for this switch in attack and were slow to grab hold of her again.

“I didn’t know,” he argued back, his voice slightly high pitched and whiny. “She never let on that she thought you and I were together, I swear it! I mean, yeah, she mentioned you, some. Actually, fairly often. But I just figured she was doing that because she knows we’re friends.” Ron’s arms relaxed once he felt certain Hermione was detained well enough to not hit him. The colour drained from his face. “Might have thought she was a bit jealous, to tell the truth, but… I dunno… it felt good. To be wanted like that. Had no idea what she was capable of, did I?”

“You knew she was insane, Ron, we all knew that!” Hermione accused. “I can’t believe you went out with her. Again! After everything that happened before, you’re so stupid as to…”

She huffed, and then shook herself free of her friends, assuring them with a steady look that she was calm. There was no point in berating Ron, she understood that better now than when they were younger. He had to make his own mistakes and learn from them, and apparently, sometimes he had to repeat those lessons in order to penetrate his thick skull. 

Hermione rubbed her scalp, wishing away her pounding headache. She ought to have known.

+++

Apologizing was one of the very few things Hermione was no good at, she discovered. Having spent the last hour at her desk, surrounded by growing mounds of parchment – parchment that, had she been thinking clearly, she would have simply cast Tergeo to siphon off the wasted ink and reuse it – her frustration level was growing even faster. Crookshanks sauntered over to sniff out the mess, snorting his disapproval.

Draco Malfoy, surprisingly enough, was innocent. This time. In this particular situation, despite his deplorable character and means of … flirtation, for lack of a better word. He had been flirting with her, she decided. Why, was another thing all together. Oh, she could imagine a long list of reasons _why_ , but none sat well with her.

Hermione squirmed in her chair, glaring between the awful, wasteful mound and the crisp, new sheet before her, her quill still standing patiently by. It was no use. How in the world could she possible explain all of this in a letter? There was too much. The alternative, though, was worse. Actually seeing Draco Malfoy, standing before him, close enough to smell his rich cologne, and reciting this convoluted and ridiculous story, topped off with a real apology from her, was unthinkable, too. Yet, in good conscience, she couldn’t very well let things lie as they currently were; it wasn’t right, wasn’t fair.

Wasn’t fair to Draco Malfoy. This was the most troubling of all her thoughts.

+++

Hours later, she had completed a terse apology, leaving out every detail that was superfluous. In brief, Hermione simply wrote, _I apologize for misjudging you_ , signed her name, and intended to send it off with her owl. Thinking about mail reminded her that it had been some time since she’d checked her post box, so with Draco’s letter in her back pocket, Hermione went to her local postal office.

She inserted her key and rifled through a large collection of letters, advertisements and flyers, and, of course, bills. However, there was a notice to pick up a package too large for her box. She handed the notice to the postal worker and silently waited for the package. When the worker returned with it, her curiosity was immediately piqued. 

It was from Draco Malfoy.

+++

Back home, her mind frazzled by this unusual package, Hermione carefully, yet quickly, tore it open. Why in Merlin’s name had he sent it to her post box, rather than by owl? Perhaps it was something vile. Her fingers paused in their inspection at this thought, but she quickly shook it away as ridiculous. Malfoy would never send a curse to a Muggle post office, no matter how much he hated her.

Did he hate her, now? No, he couldn’t. Could he?

She had been quite rude to him on several occasions, and had given him such confusing signals, what with all the kissing and scratching in the last few days. None of that was her fault, of course; she was cursed by Lavender Brown. Not that he knew any of that because she chose to withhold that from her letter, a letter she had yet to send. 

Hermione paused again, the wrapping off the package and the box slit open, the two sides slightly parted teasingly. She’d come too far to go back now. Before she could resist again, Hermione shoved both hands inside the box and felt around for what lay within. Her fingers felt cool glass and she carefully withdrew the item.

It was a clear glass bottle, etched with hearts and tiny cupids. The cork was sealed with a red band around the neck. Inside she could see real miniature red and pink roses and sprigs of Baby’s Breath, along with pink, red, and white confetti in the bottom. There were also little heart-shaped candies, similar to the kind she saw her grammar school classmates pass out, before she transferred to Hogwarts. 

Hesitating for a moment, Hermione broke the magical seal, and immediately the bottle erupted with perfumed, heart-shaped bubbles that tickled her nose. She heard kissing sounds and sighs and couldn’t help but laugh at the overly romantic gesture of the bottle. It was absurd, yet she felt slightly giddy, knowing it was intended for her, for Valentine’s Day, a holiday she rarely celebrated. 

She tipped the bottle over, holding her hand directly beneath to catch the small gemstones that came out first, glittering in her palm. The idea that these were actual gemstones and not rhinestones flitted across her mind, quickly replaced by new wonder when a little scroll slipped out next, tied up with a pink ribbon.

Hermione nearly tore the delicate parchment trying to unroll it. Malfoy’s handwriting, small, precise, covered practically every centimetre. She devoured his words, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. It spread through her entire body before she had finished reading his love letter, forcing her to sit down. Once or twice, Hermione whispered, “Oh, my.”

+++

Hermione was panting as she sprinted up to the gates of Malfoy Manor. After reading, and rereading, the love letter from Draco, her instincts led her here. However, it wasn’t until that exact moment that she even realized what she was doing. What if he didn’t live at the Manor anymore? What if he wasn’t home? What would she say to whomever open the door? And, most importantly, how did she think she’d get through the front gate? Obviously, she let her emotions override her intelligence and she came completely unprepared and without a semblance of a plan.

Her heart racing, panicking, she considered turning back, but then the gates swung open. Pausing long enough to take a deep breath, she ran on. By the time she reached the front entrance of Malfoy Manor, the doors were opening and Draco Malfoy stood before her. 

Hermione stopped short, completely out of breath as she braced her hands against her knees, panting. Oh, but what a sight she made! Her hair was wildly pointing in every direction, her face and neck flushed from the exertion, and she was wearing the same clothes she’d worn all day. Clutched in her hand was his small love letter, and he was staring at it instead of at her. 

She coughed and sputtered, feeling the sweat run down the back of her neck into her shirt. This was such a bad idea. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out, drawing his attention at last to her harried state. “I thought… well, I thought that you’d cursed me,” she said with a wry laugh. Draco blinked at her, cocking his head to the side, but before he could question her, she went on. “Now I know it wasn’t you, but I thought it was. But it was you,” she hurriedly added. “Who sent the chocolates, yes? And… I finally checked my mail. I don’t, I don’t know what…”

Hermione had no idea what she’d intended to say next because she was unexpectedly in his arms and they were kissing passionately. She threaded her fingers through his soft blond hair, moaning into his mouth as his hands clung to her backside. She couldn’t breathe, and her skin burned, but did not itch. She felt Draco tug her through the doors and smiled broadly when they slammed shut behind her.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's Notes:** This story is dedicated to Captainraychill. And to my wonderful beta, **McCargi** , without whom it never would have made it this far. Thank you!  
>  **Disclaimer:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> **Prompt:** Format: Fic or Art
> 
> Pairings: Draco/Hermione with possible side pair of Ron/Lavender?
> 
> Rating: As high as you wish
> 
> Prompt: Lavender (I love Lavender) is out for revenge this Valentine's Day. Hermione will PAY for splitting up her and her precious Won Won. And what better way to humiliate the Gryffindor Princess (Lavender wants to be the Gryffindor Princess!!) than to make her fall in love and make a fool of herself over Draco Malfoy.
> 
> Extra Notes: Hermione voodoo doll - a distinct possiblity. Will Draco take advantage or not? Lavender's meddling has unintended results, of course.
> 
> Squicks/No-No Content: Usually I don't like infidelity, but it could work in this if Ron and Hermione are a couple. Do whatever you want!


End file.
